


you're grinding but you ain't going nowhere

by the_eighth_sin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_eighth_sin/pseuds/the_eighth_sin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s filthy, the rough catch of denim on denim, hair damp and sticking to Zayn’s forehead, skin gleaming under the lights, flashing blue, red, sickly green, and the unmistakable press of Liam’s dick. Zayn shifts, slides his leg more firmly between Liam’s, thighs burning from holding the same position even as his fingers hook into Liam’s belt loops, pull his hips closer into an even dirtier sort of grind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're grinding but you ain't going nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer applies: This is fiction. Not real. It's me imposing my thoughts and feelings on constructs based on real people and should not be viewed as anything other than fiction. Please do not share this with anyone portrayed in it and we'll get along just fine. Thank you!
> 
> For Jess, because shipping prices to the US are obscene and writing is my only skill. Doing you this little PWP you've wanted for a while seemed like a good compromise. It’s not very Christmassy but I’m bad at Christmas anyway. I hope you like it lovely!
> 
> [ Helpful visual ](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4x5u97Xcr1rp2xv1o1_500.gif)

Liam’s blood is pounding in time with the music, each beat thumping loud in his ears, throbbing at his neck and temples. He’s sweating, shirt sticking to his lower back and chest, and that’s not new. What’s new is the way Zayn is plastered to his back, hips molded to Liam, lips pressed warm and wet against the nape of his neck.

What’s new is the roll of Zayn’s hips against his arse, hard length pressed to Liam’s bum.

Liam is panting, sucking in air desperately as Zayn grinds against him. He’s aching, dick hot and swollen where it’s pressed against his jeans. 

Zayn’s hands are heavy where they rest on Liam’s waist, thumbs curling up under his tshirt and brushing against his skin.

It’s so hot, bodies pressing against them at all sides, bass pounding, air heavy and thick, an almost physical weight on their skin.

Zayn chuckles, low in his throat, when Liam turns his head and moans softly, mouth pressing to Zayn’s jaw, hips jerking. They’re drunk, stupidly drunk and Zayn clenches his fingers tighter, moves Liam in time with his own dancing and can’t help but remember when he hated this, couldn’t follow a beat to save his life.

Liam taught him eventually. Took him aside one afternoon and put on something that was all bass and heavy beat and rap, grabbed him by the waist, like they are now but in reverse, with Zayn cradled against Liam’s body, and showed him how to move with the music.

That was before they started whatever this is, before the tour, before the adrenaline of a show propelled Zayn to Liam’s room and onto his bed and then into kissing him, fingers tapping out staccato beats on Liam’s ribs, at odds with the soft slide of their mouths.

Zayn slides his hand lower to press along the line of Liam’s cock now, rubs the heel of his hand down until he can palm at Liam through his jeans.

“Zayn” Liam gasps desperately, body going taught suddenly, because they’re in a club for fucks sake and they both know picture like this could ruin everything, especially ones so difficult to write off as platonic. The press of Liam’s mouth to Zayn’s face is anything but platonic.

It’s filthy, the rough catch of denim on denim, hair damp and sticking to Zayn’s forehead, skin gleaming under the lights, flashing blue, red, sickly green, and the unmistakable press of Liam’s dick. Zayn shifts, slides his leg more firmly between Liam’s, thighs burning from holding the same position even as his fingers hook into Liam’s belt loops, pull his hips closer into an even dirtier sort of grind.

“Come on then. Come on, I want to suck you off” and Zayn can barely hear himself over the music, but Liam seems to understand, blinks open eyes glazed with alcohol and lust, pupils blown wide and dark and Zayn stoops down a bit, presses a swift kiss to Liam’s mouth, red and shining in the club lights.

They shouldn’t. Zayn knows they shouldn’t, but he pulls Liam into the bathroom anyway, swinging the lock closed in the disabled cubicle, pressing his body to Liam’s and kissing him hard and wet and hot, careful to keep from pressing him against the walls or door. They’re in a club bathroom in the middle of London, Liam wouldn’t come anywhere near them if he wasn’t so drunk, still not used to the way alcohol goes straight to his head, makes everything fuzzy and soft and wonderful. So the least Zayn can do is prevent Liam from having to burn the clothes he's wearing now, when he wakes up tomorrow, shakes off his hangover and realises he let Zayn blow him in the vicinity of a toilet.

It’s cooler back here, and the sweat dripping along Zayn’s head is making it feel nicely chilled. Compared with the wet heat of Liam’s mouth though, the whole world feels unforgiving, harsh and pressing on Zayn’s shoulders and it looks like flashing cameras and the weight of millions of eyes. Zayn blinks and drops to his knees, fingers deft on Liam’s belt and button, wanting the weight of him, the taste of him enough that he doesn’t fumble, just reaches inside and pulls Liam’s straining dick out and into his mouth.

It’s quick and dirty, Liam’s hands holding tight to Zayn’s shoulders as he shudders and groans, bottom lip clenched between his teeth, trying to be quiet even though Zayn can feel the way the bass is thumping along his shins. Nobody would hear them if they screamed. Liam could shout as loud as he wanted and it wouldn’t matter.

Weirdly, it’s thrilling to know that, and Zayn sucks Liam faster, wants to hear him come apart. He does, seconds later, one hand sliding up to tangle in Zayn’s hair, warm where the wet strands have cooled in the lower air temperature, knees buckling enough that they nudge against Zayn’s chest.

Zayn stands up, thighs aching, his skin feels too tight and he’s achingly hard, pulse thrumming in his balls and Liam just looks edible, still clinging to Zayn’s arms, mouth hanging open as he pants gently, eyes glazed and lids hooded.

Zayn wants... so many things.

He wants Liam to blow him, he wants to fuck Liam, make him come again, he wants to open him up slow and easy, with his fingers and his tongue, until they’re cramping and tingling and then he wants Liam to ride him, slow and easy and sweet enough to make his teeth ache. He wants Liam to kiss him, lick the taste of himself from Zayn’s mouth and work a hand into his stupidly tight jeans and let Zayn fuck his big hands. He wants Liam to take him home and bend him over and fuck him until he cries reflexive tears. he wants so much it makes him dizzy for a second, dizzy enough that he almost misses when Liam fastens his trousers and leans around Zayn to unlock the door.

“What.. where are you going?” Zayn asks, unsticking his tongue and scrubbing his hand across his mouth.

“To dance!” Liam says, like it’s obvious and Zayn knows he’s gaping unattractively.

“But...” he gestures to his obvious erection, hoping Liam will get the hint. He seems to, locks the door again and steps up until he’s pressed all along Zayn’s body from chest to feet, the toes of their shoes bumping gently as they shift.

His mouth, when it comes rest against Zayn’s left side, is soft against the sensitive skin of his ear. Zayn’s so distracted by the feel of it, the hot puffs of air and the way Liam’s thigh is pressed perfectly against his throbbing cock, that he misses half of what Liam’s saying, catches the tail end of the sentence. Hears, 

“-you can be good yeah, Zayn? You can wait til we get home when I can spread you out and lick you open. You can wait and come on my dick right?”

(It’s a good few hours until Zayn gets to come, bent over the arm of Liam’s sofa with Liam’s tongue pressing inside of him, fingers clawing at the material as Liam’s forces his brain out of his dick. Liam pulls away with a slick sound, presses a kiss to the bottom-most knob of Zayn’s spine and breathes “That’s one” into the slick skin there, words slipping sideways slightly as he works the tingly numb feeling of overexertion out of his tongue.)

For now Zayn gulps, throat working as he digests what Liam’s saying before following him out of the bathroom and back into the club, wave of heat hitting them when they step into the corridor. Zayn moans a little bit, at the way it feels like sex and smells like sweat, whole body aching, with the taste of Liam still in his mouth. 

He takes a deep breath and worms a hand into his jeans in an attempt to at least make his obvious erection slightly less obvious, because Liam’s wants him to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Azealia Banks' 212. It felt appropriate.
> 
> I hope you all like it! Feel free to comment/kudos and tell your friends!


End file.
